walls, was Clara buried. It appeared as if Joergen had never thought
about her grave; it did not enter into the narrow circle of his ideas,
which now only dwelt among wrecks of the past. Every Sunday he
accompanied the family to church, and he generally sat quiet with a
totally vacant look; but one day, while a psalm was being sung, he
breathed a sigh, his eyes lightened up, he turned them towards the
altar--towards that spot where, more than a year before, he had knelt,
with his dead friend at his side. He uttered her name, became as white
as a sheet, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
He was helped out of church, and then he said that he felt quite well,
and did not think anything had been the matter with him; the short
flash of memory had already faded away from him--the much-tried, the
sorely-smitten of God. Yet that God, our Creator, is all wisdom and
all love, who can doubt? Our hearts and our reason acknowledge it, and
the Bible proclaims it. "His tender mercies are over all His works."
In Spain, where, amidst laurels and orange trees, the Moorish golden
cupolas glitter in the warm air, where songs and castanets are heard,
sat, in a splendid mansion, a childless old man. Children were
passing through the streets in a procession, with lights and waving
banners. How much of his enormous wealth would he not have given to
possess one child--to have had spared to him his daughter and her
little one, who perhaps never beheld the light of day in this world.
If so, how would it behold the light of eternity--of paradise? "Poor,
poor child!"
Yes; poor child--nothing but a child--and yet in his thirtieth year!
for to such an age had Joergen attained there in Gammel-Skagen.
The sand-drifts had found their way even over the graves in the
churchyard, and up to the very walls of the church itself; yet here,
amidst those who had gone before them--amidst relatives and
friends--the dead were still buried. The good old Broenne and his wife
reposed there, near their daughter, under the white sand.
It was late in the year--the time of storms; the sand-hills smoked,
the waves rolled mountains high on the raging sea; the birds in hosts,
like dark tempestuous clouds, passed screeching over the sand-hills;
ship after ship went ashore on the terrible reefs between Skagen's
Green and Huusby-Klitter.
One afternoon Joergen was sitting alone in the parlour, and suddenly
there rushed upon his shattered mind a feeling akin to the
restlessness which so often, in his younger years, had driven him out
among the sand-hills, or upon the heath.
"Home! home!" he exclaimed. No one heard him. He left the house, and
took his way to the sand-hills. The sand and the small stones dashed
against his face, and whirled around him. He went towards the church;
the sand was lying banked up against the walls, and half way up the
windows; but the walk up to the church was freer of it. The church
door was not locked, it opened easily, and Joergen entered the sacred
edifice.
The wind went howling over the town of Skagen; it was blowing a
perfect hurricane, such as had not been known in the memory of the
oldest man living--it was most fearful weather. But Joergen was in
God's house, and while dark night came on around him, all seemed light
within; it was the light of the immortal soul which is never to be
extinguished. He felt as if a heavy stone had fallen from his head; he
fancied that he heard the organ playing, but the sounds were those of
the storm and the roaring sea. He placed himself in one of the pews,
and he fancied that the candles were lighted one after the other,
until there was a blaze of brilliancy such as he had beheld in the
cathedral in Spain; and all the portraits of the old magistrates and
burgomasters became imbued with life, descended from the frames in
which they had stood for years, and placed themselves in the choir.
The gates and side doors of the church opened, he thought, and in
walked all the dead, clothed in the grandest costumes of their times,
whilst music floated in the air; and when they had seated themselves
in the different pews, a solemn hymn arose, and swelled like the
rolling of the sea.
Among those who had joined the spirit throng were his old
foster-father and mother from Huusby-Klitter, and his kind friend
Broenne and his wife; and at their side, but close to himself, sat
their mild, lovely daughter. She held out her hand to him, Joergen
thought, and they went up to the altar where once they had knelt
together; the priest joined their hands, and pronounced those words
and that blessing which were to hallow for them life and love. Then
music's tones peeled around--the organ, wind instruments, and voices
combined--until there arose a volume of sound sufficient to shake the
very tombstones over the graves.
Presently the little ship that hung under the roof moved towards him
and Clara. It became large and magnificent, with silken sails and
gilded masts; the anchor was of the brightest gold, and every rope was
of silk cord, as described in the old song. He and his bride stepped
on board, then the whole multitude in the church followed them, and
there was room for all. He fancied that the walls and vaulted roof of
the church turned into blooming elder and linden trees, which diffused
a sweet perfume around. It was all one mass of verdure. The trees
bowed themselves, and left an open space; then the ship ascended
gently, and sailed out through the air above the sea. Every light in
the church looked like a star. The wind commenced a hymn, and all sang
with it: "In love to glory!" "No life shall be lost!" "Away to supreme
happiness!" "Hallelujah!"
These words were his last in this world. The cord had burst which held
the undying soul. There lay but a cold corpse in the dark church,
around which the storm was howling, and which it was overwhelming with
the drifting sand.
* * * * *
The next morning was a Sunday; the congregation and their pastor came
at the hour of church service. The approach to the church had been
almost impassable on account of the depth of the sand, and when at
length they reached it, they found an immense sand-heap piled up
before the door of the church--the drifting sand had closed up all
entrance to its interior. The clergyman read a prayer, and then said
that, as God had locked the doors of that holy house, they must go
elsewhere and erect another for His service.
They sang a psalm, and retired to their homes.
Joergen could not be found either at Skagen or amidst the sand-hills,
where every search was made for him. It was supposed that the wild
waves, which had rolled so far up on the sands, had swept him off.
But his body lay entombed in a large sarcophagus--in the church
itself. During the storm God had cast earth upon his coffin--heavy
piles of quicksand had accumulated there, and lie there even now.
The sand had covered the lofty arches, sand-thorns and wild roses grow
over the church, where the wayfarer now struggles on towards its
spire, which towers above the sand, an imposing tombstone over the
grave, seen from miles around--no king had ever a grander one! None
disturb the repose of the dead--none knew where Joergen lay, until
now--the storm sang the secret for me among the sand-hills!
_The Mud-king's Daughter._
The storks are in the habit of relating to their little ones many
tales, all from the swamps and the bogs. They are, in general,
suitable to the ages and comprehensions of the hearers. The smallest
youngsters are contented with mere sound, such as "krible, krable,
plurremurre." They think that wonderful; but the more advanced require
something rational, or at least something about their family. Of the
two most ancient and longest traditions that have been handed down
among the storks, we are all acquainted with one--that about Moses,
who was placed by his mother on the banks of the Nile, was found there
by the king's daughter, was well brought up, and became a great man,
such as has never been heard of since in the place where he was
buried.
The other story is not well known, probably because it is a tale of
home; yet it has passed down from one stork grandam to another for a
thousand years, and each succeeding narrator has told it better and
better, and now we shall tell it best of all.
The first pair of storks who related this tale had themselves
something to do with its events. The place of their summer sojourn
was at the Viking's loghouse, up by _the wild morass_, at Vendsyssel.
It is in Hjoering district, away near Skagen, in the north of Jutland,
speaking with geographical precision. It is now an enormous bog, and
an account of it can be read in descriptions of the country. This
place was once the bottom of the sea; but the waters have receded, and
the ground has risen. It stretches itself for miles on all sides,
surrounded by wet meadows and pools of water, by peat-bogs,
cloudberries, and miserable stunted trees. A heavy mist almost always
hangs over this place, and about seventy years ago wolves were found
there. It is rightly called, the wild morass; and one may imagine how
savage it must have been, and how much swamp and sea must have existed
there a thousand years ago. Yes, in these respects the same was to be
seen there as is to be seen now. The rushes had the same height, the
same sort of long leaves, and blue-brown, feather-like flowers that
they bear now; the birch tree stood with its white bark, and delicate
drooping leaves, as now; and, in regard to the living creatures, the
flies had the same sort of crape clothing as they wear now; and the
storks' bodies were white, with black and red stockings. Mankind, on
the contrary, at that time wore coats cut in another fashion from what
they do in our days; but every one of them, serf or huntsman,
whosoever he might be who trod upon the quagmire, fared a thousand
years ago as they fare now: one step forward--they fell in, and sank
down to the MUD-KING, as _he_ was called who reigned below in the
great morass kingdom. Very little is known about his government; but
that is, perhaps, a good thing.
Near the bog, close by Liimfjorden, lay the Viking's loghouse of three
stories high, and with a tower and stone cellars. The storks had
built their nest upon the roof of this dwelling. The female stork sat
upon her eggs, and felt certain they would be all hatched.
One evening the male stork remained out very long, and when he came
home he looked rumpled and flurried.
"I have something very terrible to tell thee," he said to the female
stork.
"Thou hadst better keep it to thyself," said she. "Remember I am
sitting upon the eggs: a fright might do me harm, and the eggs might
be injured."
"But it _must_ be told thee," he replied. "She has come here--the
daughter of our host in Egypt. She has ventured the long journey up
hither, and she is lost."
"She who is of the fairies' race? Speak, then! Thou knowest that I
cannot bear suspense while I am sitting."
"Know, then, that she believed what the doctors said, which thou didst
relate to me. She believed that the bog-plants up here could cure her
invalid father; and she has flown hither, in the magic disguise of a
swan, with the two other swan princesses, who every year come hither
to the north to bathe and renew their youth. She has come, and she is
lost."
"Thou dost spin the matter out so long," muttered the female stork,
"the eggs will be quite cooled. I cannot bear suspense just now."
"I will come to the point," replied the male. "This evening I went to
the rushes where the quagmire could bear me. Then came three swans.
There was something in their motions which said to me, 'Take care;
they are not real swans; they are only the appearance of swans,
created by magic.' Thou wouldst have known as well as I that they were
not of the right sort."
"Yes, surely," she said; "but tell me about the princess. I am tired
of hearing about the swans."
"In the midst of the morass--here, I must tell thee, it is like a
lake," said the male stork--"thou canst see a portion of it if thou
wilt raise thyself up a moment--yonder, by the rushes and the green
morass, lay a large stump of an alder tree. The three swans alighted
upon it, flapped their wings, and looked about them. One of them cast
off her swan disguise, and I recognised in her our royal princess from
Egypt. She sat now with no other mantle around her than her long dark
hair. I heard her desire the other two to take good care of her magic
swan garb, while she ducked down under the water to pluck the flower
which she thought she saw. They nodded, and raised the empty feather
dress between them. 'What are they going to do with it?' said I to
myself; and she probably asked herself the same question. The answer
came too soon, for I saw them take flight up into the air with her
charmed feather dress. 'Dive thou there!' they cried. 'Never more
shalt thou fly in the form of a magic swan--never more shalt thou
behold the land of Egypt. Dwell thou in _the wild morass_!' And they
tore her magic disguise into a hundred pieces, so that the feathers
whirled round about as if there were a fall of snow; and away flew the
two worthless princesses."
"It is shocking!" said the lady stork; "I can't bear to hear it. Tell
me what more happened."
"The princess sobbed and wept. Her tears trickled down upon the trunk
of the alder tree, and then it moved; for it was the mud-king
himself--he who dwells in the morass. I saw the trunk turn itself, and
then there was no more trunk--it struck up two long miry branches like
arms; then the poor child became dreadfully alarmed, and she sprang
aside upon the green slimy coating of the marsh; but it could not bear
me, much less her, and she sank immediately in. The trunk of the alder
tree went down with her--it was that which had dragged her down: then
arose to the surface large black bubbles, and all further traces of
her disappeared. She is now buried in 'the wild morass;' and never,
never shall she return to Egypt with the flower she sought. Thou
couldst not have borne to have seen all this, mother."
"Thou hadst no business to tell me such a startling tale at a time
like this. The eggs may suffer. The princess can take care of herself:
she will no doubt be rescued. If it had been me or thee, or any of our
family, it would have been all over with us."
"I will look after her every day, however," said the male stork; and
so he did.
A long time had elapsed, when one day he saw that far down from the
bottom was shooting up a green stem, and when it reached the surface a
leaf grew on it. The leaf became broader and broader; close by it came
a bud; and one morning, when the stork flew over it, the bud opened in
the warm sunshine, and in the centre of it lay a beautiful infant, a
little girl, just as if she had been taken out of a bath. She so
strongly resembled the princess from Egypt, that the stork at first
thought it was herself who had become an infant again; but when he
considered the matter he came to the conclusion that she was the
daughter of the princess and the mud-king, therefore she lay in the
calyx of a water-lily.
"She cannot be left lying there," said the stork to himself; "yet in
my nest we are already too overcrowded. But a thought strikes me. The
Viking's wife has no children; she has much wished to have a pet. I am
often blamed for bringing little ones. I shall now, for once, do so
in reality. I shall fly with this infant to the Viking's wife: it will
be a great pleasure to her."
And the stork took the little girl, flew to the loghouse, knocked with
his beak a hole in the window-pane of stretched bladder, laid the
infant in the arms of the Viking's wife, then flew to his mate, and
unburdened his mind to her; while the little ones listened
attentively, for they were old enough now to do that.
"Only think, the princess is not dead. She has sent her little one up
here, and now it is well provided for."
"I told thee from the beginning it would be all well," said the mother
stork. "Turn thy thoughts now to thine own family. It is almost time
for our long journey; I begin now to tingle under the wings. The
cuckoo and the nightingale are already gone, and I hear the quails
saying that we shall soon have a fair wind. Our young ones are quite
able to go, I know that."
How happy the Viking's wife was when, in the morning, she awoke and
found the lovely little child lying on her breast! She kissed it and
caressed it, but it screeched frightfully, and floundered about with
its little arms and legs: IT evidently seemed little pleased. At last
it cried itself to sleep, and as it lay there it was one of the most
beautiful little creatures that could be seen. The Viking's wife was
so pleased and happy, she took it into her head that her husband, with
all his retainers, would come as unexpectedly as the little one had
done; and she set herself and the whole household to work, in order
that everything might be ready for their reception. The coloured
tapestry which she and her women had embroidered with representations
of their gods--ODIN, THOR, and FREIA, as they were called--were hung
up; the serfs were ordered to clean and polish the old shields with
which the walls were to be decorated; cushions were laid on the
benches; and dry logs of wood were heaped on the fireplace in the
centre of the hall, so that the pile might be easily lighted. The
Viking's wife laboured so hard herself that she was quite tired by the
evening, and slept soundly.
When she awoke towards morning she became much alarmed, for the little
child was gone. She sprang up, lighted a twig of the pine tree, and
looked about; and, to her amazement, she saw, in the part of the bed
to which she stretched her feet, not the beautiful infant, but a great
ugly frog. She was so much disgusted with it that she took up a heavy
stick, and was going to kill the nasty creature; but it looked at her
with such wonderfully sad and speaking eyes that she could not strike
it. Again she searched about. The frog gave a faint, pitiable cry. She
started up, and sprang from the bed to the window; she opened the
shutters, and at the same moment the sun streamed in, and cast its
bright beams upon the bed and upon the large frog; and all at once it
seemed as if the broad mouth of the noxious animal drew itself in, and
became small and red--the limbs stretched themselves into the most
beautiful form--it was her own little lovely child that lay there, and
no ugly frog.
"What is all this?" she exclaimed. "Have I dreamed a bad dream? That
certainly is my pretty little elfin child lying yonder." And she
kissed it and strained it affectionately to her heart; but it
struggled, and tried to bite like the kitten of a wild cat.
Neither the next day nor the day after came the Viking, though he was
on the way, but the wind was against him; it was for the storks. A
fair wind for one is a contrary wind for another.
In the course of a few days and nights it became evident to the
Viking's wife how things stood with the little child--that it was
under the influence of some terrible witchcraft. By day it was as
beautiful as an angel, but it had a wild, evil disposition; by night,
on the contrary, it was an ugly frog, quiet, except for its croaking,
and with melancholy eyes. It had two natures, that changed about, both
without and within. This arose from the little girl whom the stork had
brought possessing by day her own mother's external appearance, and at
the same time her father's temper; while by night, on the contrary,
she showed her connection with him outwardly in her form, whilst her
mother's mind and heart inwardly became hers. What art could release
her from the power which exercised such sorcery over her? The Viking's
wife felt much anxiety and distress about it, and yet her heart hung
on the poor little being, of whose strange state she thought she
should not dare to inform her husband when he came home; for he
assuredly, as was the custom, would put the poor child out on the high
road, and let any one take it who would. The Viking's good-natured
wife had not the heart to allow this; therefore she resolved that he
should never see the child but by day.
At dawn of day the wings of the storks were heard fluttering over the
roof. During the night more than a hundred pairs of storks had been
making their preparations, and now they flew up to wend their way to
the south.
"Let all the males be ready," was the cry. "Let their mates and little
ones join them."
"How light we feel!" said the young storks, who were all impatience
to be off. "How charming to be able to travel to other lands!"
"Keep ye all together in one flock," cried the father and mother, "and
don't chatter so much--it will take away your breath."
So they all flew away.
About the same time the blast of a horn sounding over the heath gave
notice that the Viking had landed with all his men; they were
returning home with rich booty from the Gallic coast, where the
people, as in Britain, sang in their terror,--
"Save us from the savage Normands!"
What life and bustle were now apparent in the Viking's castle near
"the wild morass!" Casks of mead were brought into the hall, the pile
of wood was lighted, and horses were slaughtered for the grand feast
which was to be prepared. The sacrificial priests sprinkled with the
horses' warm blood the slaves who were to assist in the offering. The
fires crackled, the smoke rolled up under the roof, the soot dropped
from the beams; but people were accustomed to that. Guests were
invited, and they brought handsome gifts; rancour and falseness were
forgotten--they all became drunk together, and they thrust their
doubled fists into each other's faces--which was a sign of
good-humour. The skald--he was a sort of poet and musician, but at the
same time a warrior--who had been with them, and had witnessed what he
sang about, gave them a song, wherein they heard recounted all their
achievements in battle, and wonderful adventures. At the end of every
verse came the same refrain,--
"Fortune dies, friends die, one dies one's self; but a
glorious name never dies."
And then they all struck on their shields, and thundered with their
knives or their knuckle-bones on the table, so that they made a
tremendous noise.
The Viking's wife sat on the cross bench in the open banquet hall. She
wore a silk dress, gold bracelets, and large amber beads. She was in
her grandest attire, and the skald named her also in his song, and
spoke of the golden treasure she had brought her husband; and HE
rejoiced in the lovely child he had only seen by daylight, in all its
wondrous beauty. The fierce temper which accompanied her exterior
charms pleased him. "She might become," he said, "a stalwart female
warrior, and able to kill a giant adversary." She never even blinked
her eyes when a practised hand, in sport, cut off her eyebrows with a
sharp sword.
The mead casks were emptied, others were brought up, and these, too,
were drained; for there were folks present who could stand a good
deal. To them might have been applied the old proverb, "The cattle
know when to leave the pasture; but an unwise man never knows the
depth of his stomach."
Yes, they all knew it; but people often know the right thing, and do
the wrong. They knew also that "one wears out one's welcome when one
stays too long in another man's house;" but they remained there for
all that. Meat and mead are good things. All went on merrily, and
towards night the slaves slept amidst the warm ashes, and dipped their
fingers into the fat skimmings of the soup, and licked them. It was a
rare time!
And again the Viking went forth on an expedition, notwithstanding the
stormy weather. He went after the crops were gathered in. He went with
his men to the coast of Britain--"it was only across the water," he
said--and his wife remained at home with her little girl; and it was
soon to be seen that the foster-mother cared almost more for the poor
frog, with the honest eyes and plaintive croaking, than for the beauty
who scratched and bit everybody around.
The raw, damp, autumn, mist, that loosens the leaves from the trees,
lay over wood and hedge; "Birdfeatherless," as the snow is called, was
falling thickly; winter was close at hand. The sparrows seized upon
the storks' nest, and talked over, in their fashion, the absent
owners. They themselves, the stork pair, with all their young ones,
where were they now?
* * * * *